Bookends
by cbtreks
Summary: Starsky and Hutch got together - but it seemed they had different expectations of their relationship. Slash. HC. (Written 1998)


_"Time it was and what a time it was . . .  
It was . . .  
A time of innocence,  
A time of confidences.  
Long ago it must be . . .  
I have a photograph . . .  
Preserve your memories -  
They're all that's left you."_

_(Paul Simon)_

Hutch blinked away the tears that had surprised their way into his eyes, swallowed hard against that lump that had stolen into his throat. 'Where did that come from?' he thought in surprise.

The song - without realizing he'd done it, he'd rewound the tape and repeated the song that had just finished. He vaguely remembered hearing it when it had first come out in . . . when was it? Sixty-something. Back when he'd been young and still pretty innocent himself.

Simon and Garfunkel's Greatest Hits. He shook his head, smiling a little ruefully. It had been a birthday present from his mother four months previously - why she'd gotten this particular tape, which he'd never expressed any interest in, was anybody's guess. Who knew why she did half the stuff she did . . . . In any case, he'd tossed it in with the rest of his tapes and records and left it unopened. Until tonight.

Tonight was Christmas Eve. It was a white Christmas this year in Duluth - almost always was - a genuine Christmas card Christmas. The sky was clear indigo, with just an occasional cloud passing through to sift some fresh snow onto the scenery. The stars were twinkling like the proverbial diamonds in the sky and the snow was so white it blinded. Everywhere Hutch had gone recently there were decorated trees - real pines, spruces, and firs, heavily scented - and gingerbread baking, multi-colored lights, carols emanating from every speaker - he'd even heard sleigh bells. He hated it.

Hutch hated this Hallmark Christmas so much because it reminded him of Starsky - Starsky who'd never spend a Christmas in Minnesota and for whom Christmas was an adopted holiday. He'd love this, would revel in it like a child, and through his pleasure he'd make Hutch love it, too. But Starsky wasn't here and Hutch couldn't enjoy the holiday without him.

A year and a half since he'd left L.A. They'd weathered the Kira fiasco that might have torn a weaker friendship into shreds. Survived the nightmare of Starsky's shooting, the fear that he might die, then the only slightly less overwhelming fear that he might never recover to the point that he could return to his job. But he had. It had taken hard work and determination and his doctors had called it miraculous - they had thought that the scarring on his lungs would preclude his ever passing the departmental physical again. Starsky attributed it to Hutch's coaching and cheerleading and TLC. And at some point during that recovery period, they'd realized that they were in love with each other.

Loving each other was nothing new, but loving each other this way - physically, sexually, romantically - was. It didn't take long for Hutch to learn that this - loving Starsky, being with him, making a life with him - was all he wanted in this life. He'd marry him if he could. And when he said as much, the whole thing blew up in his face. Yes, Starsky loved him, dearly, desperately, completely - but not exclusively. Hutch had long ago given up hope of meeting a woman he would marry and have children with and sometime after he and Starsky had moved their relationship into the physical, he realized that he'd lost all desire for such a relationship with a woman. This was _it_. But for Starsky, it wasn't. He wanted Hutch in his life for the rest of his life, but he still wanted the wife and the kids and the white picket fence, and had assumed that when he found them, the physical aspect of his relationship with Hutch would end. To be fair, he'd thought that Hutch had felt the same way.

Looking back, Hutch realized that they'd put off discussing their new relationship far too long and when they finally did talk, it turned into the worst fight they'd had in all their years together. Hutch, in pain, had said horrible things meant to cut Starsky to ribbons. Starsky in turn had been just as cruel. Hutch stayed up all that night, packing. The next morning, he'd arranged to have his belongings shipped to him and caught a flight for Duluth.

He'd half expected Starsky to come after him - he knew his partner would figure out immediately where he'd gone - and he hadn't been sure whether to be hurt or relieved when he hadn't. Hutch knew that Starsky had made some inquiries and he'd eventually sent a letter to Hutch in care of the security agency in Duluth where he worked. Hutch had read it only once and hadn't answered it, but he'd kept it, hidden away.

Now he sat alone in his darkened living room, on the edge of tears, feeling worse than he had the day he'd left L.A. It had become increasingly obvious over the past eighteen months that running away - he refused to call it anything else - had solved nothing. He still hurt and he missed Starsky. Missed working as a cop, missed the close partnership they'd had, the friendship they'd shared, missed the loving. And it was sheer stubbornness that kept him here, that and pride. He knew that Starsky had done some painful soul-searching and that he wanted Hutch back, wanted to have a permanent, exclusive relationship with him, no more looking for the wife, the kids, the picket fence. Well, _had_ wanted him back, anyway. The letter he'd written had come over a year ago - it was quite possible, even likely, that Starsky had given up on him by now.

Hutch went to the bedroom and dug around in the bottom dresser drawer till he found the letter, then took it back to the living room, where he read it over again. When he was done, he laid it gently on the coffee table and slumped on the sofa, leaning his head on the back. Starsky wanted him - had wanted him - the only reason he hadn't gone after him immediately was because he'd been so hurt and angry. He'd regretted the fight almost since the last word had been flung into the air. Hutch knew his former partner was a proud man, but he'd abandoned all pride when he'd written Hutch, pleading with him to come home and work things out. _Almost_, Hutch had gone right back to L.A. But he was a proud man himself, and sometimes that pride got in his way. Like this time. But now his pride was broken and he felt ready to do whatever it might take to repair the breech that existed between them.

He leaned toward the phone on the end table and had just picked up the receiver when there was a knock on the door. Ignoring it - his folks were in Florida and there was no one else in Duluth that he cared to see tonight - he began to dial. The knocking continued as the phone began to ring, and didn't let up as the phone continued ringing. There was no answer and finally Hutch hung up. Maybe in the morning . . . . Meanwhile, it was obvious that whoever was at the door was refusing to go away; might as well answer it and send them packing. He got up from the sofa, flicked on the porch light and opened the door.

"Oh, God," Hutch breathed as he stared at the figure standing on the porch. Snow glinted on the dark curls and the deep blue eyes gleamed with reflected light form the porch lamp.

Starsky had been looking somber, but at Hutch's soft exclamation he grinned. "Well, no, not really," he said.

Hutch continued to stare at this dream come true - Starsky, standing on his porch, flesh and blood.

Starsky's grin faltered somewhat. "So, you gonna just stand there starin' like an owl or you gonna invite - " The rest of the sentence was cut off as Hutch stepped onto the porch and enveloped Starsky in a hug so hard it would've hurt if it hadn't felt so good. For a shocked moment, Starsky's arms hung limply at his sides, then he returned the hug with the same fierce intensity.

The two men clung together without speaking for several long minutes. Finally Starsky loosened his grip. "Hutch. Hey, Hutch, it's _cold_ out here! I ain't had a year and a half to get used to this."

Hutch didn't loosen his hold on Starsky by a millimeter. His head was buried in the crook of Starsky's neck and he was trembling. He shook his head and muttered, "Don't wanna let go. Don't want to let go of you ever again, Starsk."

Starsky dropped a gentle kiss on the top of Hutch's head. "Ok. But let's get inside, ok?" And without letting go of Hutch, he shuffled through the door, kicking his duffle bag ahead of him as he went. Hutch allowed himself to be walked inside like a little kid. Once inside, Starsky got the door shut, still without releasing Hutch from his embrace. Finally Hutch lifted his head and looked at Starsky. His eyes were red-rimmed and tears clung to the pale lashes. "Hey, what's this?" Starsky asked. "No need for tears, babe." But even as he spoke, his own eyes filled and he felt a lump come into his own throat.

"I know," Hutch whispered. "I'm sorry - "

"No," Starsky interrupted. He placed his had gently over Hutch's mouth. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Hutch removed one arm from around Starsky's waist so that he could pull the had away. "No, Starsk, I do have to apologize. I can't tell you how sorry I am for saying the things I said to you, hurting you like that."

"But Hutch, I -   
"No, let me finish, please. And I'm even sorrier for running away like I did, without even trying to work things out first. I'm sorrier still that I didn't answer the letter you sent me, that I didn't come home the minute I read it. And I'm sorriest of all for this whole past year and a half; I wish I could just do it all over." Hutch's voice had been shaking as he talked and now it broke. He clenched his jaw and his fists, fighting for control, looking away from Starsky to hide the tears that had returned to his eyes. A gentle hand touched his chin, turned his head. He found himself staring into deep blue eyes that shone with love and compassion and Starsky's own unshed tears.

"Don't hide from me, Hutch. Please - " and Starsky's voice broke. He continued shakily, "Whether you're laughin' or cryin' or angry or scared - please, _please_, don't ever hide from me again. We can work anything out if we're together, but when you're gone - " His voice broke again and a tear slid down his face.

Hutch closed his eyes and turned his face into the rough, gentle hand that had moved from his chin to his cheek. He felt a tear slide down his own face. "Ah, Starsk."

At the same moment, the two men wrapped their arms around each other again. For several minutes, there was no sound in the room but the muffled sound of healing tears.

The storm passed quickly and Hutch felt something easing inside himself, the aching tightness that he'd been carrying in his chest for the past year and a half - longer, really - starting to loosen at last. He lifted his head from where it had been resting on Starsky's shoulder; Starsky looked at him questioningly. "You mean," Hutch asked in a small voice, "you still love me after all I've done?"

"Oh, darlin'," Starsky whispered. Hutch closed his eyes, felt a hand brush the hair off his forehead. "I still love you." A soft kiss landed on his forehead. "I've always loved you." Another kiss, on his cheek. "I've never stopped loving you." Another kiss, on the other cheek this time. The whisper grew even softer, husky. "And I will love you forever if you'll let me." Starsky touched his lips tenderly to Hutch's. The kiss was sweet and gentle and loving, and Hutch felt that, had he been dying of thirst in the desert and someone gave him water, it couldn't have tasted sweeter or felt better.

It was Starsky who broke the kiss, laying his head on Hutch's shoulder. Hutch stroked his back, moving one hand up to tangle in the dark curls. So wonderful . . . he'd never thought he'd get to do this again. "Hutch?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"You know, we've been standin' here forever and my feet are soaked - whyn't you shovel your walk? - and I'm too hot with this coat on - "

Hutch laughed. "Always complaining!" he said.

"Well, I had to make sure you knew it was really me." Hutch felt Starsky grin against his neck. "So you think you can let go long enough that I can at least get my coat off?"

Hutch kissed Starsky, quickly but thoroughly, and reluctantly let go. He took Starsky's coat and hung it up, then got a towel from the linen closet and brought it to Starsky. "Here, dry off and change your socks. Don't want you catching cold."

Starsky smiled. "S'okay. You do good doctoring. So long as you don't have any of Huggy's mustard green broth hidden in your kitchen."

Hutch laughed again. Laughing felt so good; he couldn't remember the last time he'd done it. "No mustard green broth. I can probably find something hot to drink though. Coffee?"

"Know what I really want?"

"Hmm?"

"Cocoa."

"Cocoa?"

"Yeah. Have any?"

"I think there's a box of instant in the kitchen."

"Ok." Starsky had changed into dry socks and deposited his wet Adidas by the door. Now he stood, a damp sock in either hand, looking around a little confusedly. "Where's the - "

"Down the hall and to the left. You hungry? Or did you eat on the plane? You did fly in, didn't you?"

"Yes. No. Yes." Starsky's voice carried faintly from the bathroom to the kitchen, where Hutch was boiling water.

"What?"

Starsky came out of the bathroom and found his way to the kitchen, where he stood leaning in the doorway. "I said yes, I'm hungry; no, I didn't eat on the plane; yes, I flew."

"What can I get you to eat?" Hutch asked, opening the refrigerator.

"Nothing right now," Starsky replied.

"Huh?" Hutch shut the door and turned to look at Starsky, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Come on back to the living room and sit with me awhile. I still got some things to say to you."

Without a word, Hutch picked up two steaming mugs from the counter, handed one to Starsky, and walked into the living room. He sat down on the sofa, still without speaking. The look on his face stated plainly that he was wondering if he'd misread everything that had happened in the previous hour. Starsky sat down next to Hutch, removed the mug from his hand and set it, with his own, on the end table. Then he moved in closely, wrapping his arms around the taller man and holding him tightly. He smiled as he felt Hutch relax against him. He spoke quietly. "You made all your apologies to me - even though they weren't necessary. I mean," he continued as he sensed that Hutch was about to protest, "that I didn't need to hear 'em. But I understand your need to say 'em, 'cause I've got some apologies of my own to make, too."

Hutch shifted in his seat so he could look Starsky in the eyes. "You owe no apologies to me."

"But I need to say 'em. As much as you needed to tell me, I have to tell you how sorry I am for the way I treated you - "

"But you - "

"Wait. Let me say what I need to, ok? Please?"

Hutch kissed Starsky on the mouth. "Anything you want, babe. Anything at all."

Starsky drew Hutch's head to his shoulder - nice to sit like this and be the one doing the comforting. He'd usually been on the receiving end, and he'd always loved it - but he'd loved just as much those times when Hutch would allow him to give. He ran his fingers through the soft, blond hair as he spoke.

"I'm sorry for makin' assumptions about what you wanted. I'm sorry for - aw, Hutch, If I could take back every hurtful word I said to you I'd do it so fast . . . I've regretted that fight every single minute from the moment it began. I'm sorry for not goin' after you as soon as you'd left town - I knew where you were headed - " he looked a little puzzled when Hutch gave a soft laugh, but didn't interrupt himself - "and I'm sorry for not getting in touch with you sooner. I'm sorry I didn't write or call when you didn't answer me. It hurt me all over again when I didn't hear from you and I got proud and - well, I was stupid." He slumped a little, suddenly exhausted. "I'm sorry, Hutch, so sorry. Forgive me?"

When Starsky finished speaking, both he and Hutch were silent for awhile. Starsky kept running his fingers through Hutch's hair and Hutch leaned into Starsky, holding the hand that wasn't buried in his hair, relaxed, almost dozing. Finally, he kissed Starsky's palm - the gun-calloused, work-hardened palm he'd thought he'd never again feel caressing him - and quietly said, "I forgave you long ago. Can we start over? Is it too late?"

Starsky shifted, wrapping both arms around Hutch and squeezing him tightly. "Not too late," he murmured into Hutch's hair. "Never too late if you don't want it to be."

"I don't want it to be. I want to be with you the rest of my life. Doesn't matter where - here, L.A., New York - wherever you want it to be. The only thing - " he pulled away slightly and waited till Starsky was looking him in the eyes - "the only thing is, I have to be sure, be _sure_ that this is exclusive and permanent. I can't handle it any other way, babe, and I'm sorry if it's selfish. It probably is, but I have to have it that way."

"I know you do, darlin', and I won't have it any other way myself. It's forever this time. You're not selfish; you're the most caring, giving person I know. I'm the selfish one - "

"Stop." Hutch cut off Starsky's words by covering that beautiful mouth with his own, kissing him till they were both light-headed. When the kiss ended, he said, "No more self-recriminations. We've both made our apologies and we've both said we want to start over, so let's do just that. You told me it's forever this time and I believe you. So let's go on from there, ok?"

Starsky nodded. "Ok. No recriminations. But let me say this." He held tightly to Hutch's hand, gazing at him openly and lovingly. "I had a lot of thinkin' time when you left. You know, I had a date a few days after that. Nice girl, sweet, pretty. And I hated every minute of it. I kept thinkin' all through the movie about what you would've said, the comments you'd have made, how you would've picked it apart after and we'd have argued about it - and I missed that. Thought about you all through dinner and then when I kissed her goodnight. She wanted me to come in, so I did, but I didn't want to sleep with her. We ended up in bed anyway and I, well - " Starsky's voice faltered and he paused a moment before continuing. "- I, um, I couldn't."

Hutch swallowed. Starsky watched the movement of his adam's apple, seemingly enthralled. He placed his had gently on Hutch's cheek, holding it there, feeling the rough brush of whiskers on his palm. "I missed this," he said quietly, rubbing a thumb along the mustache. "I missed you." Hutch, overwhelmed once again, closed his eyes and leaned into the hand caressing him.

"What I mean to say," Starsky said, "is that I told you back then that I wanted to be married someday, have a family, and that when that happened, I figured we'd go back to what we'd been. And I had a lot of time to think about that, lots of opportunity to pursue other options. But I didn't 'cause every time I thought about the future, you were there. Not just as my partner and my friend, but in my bed and in my heart. What I want for the future has changed - but it's never gonna change again, Hutch. You're all I want, all I'll ever want. If I ever do get married, I want it to be to you. I came here today to tell you that, face to face, hoping you'd let me back in your life. If you didn't, well - " Starsky broke into an abashed grin that lit his eyes like noonday. " - well, I guess I didn't plan that far in advance."

Hutch didn't say anything, just kissed Starsky again, gently this time, and wrapped his arms around him. The two men sat in silence for awhile, then Starsky yawned till Hutch though the man's jaw would dislocate, then sat up, stretching till his joints popped. He reached for his mug of cocoa and took a sip, grimaced and put it back down. "Cold."

Hutch stood up and picked up both mugs. "Let me get you some more," he said as he walked to the kitchen.

Starsky was right behind him, removing the mugs from Hutch's hands and pouring the contents down the drain. "Nah, forget the cocoa, Hutch. 'M suddenly so tired I think I might fall over. Not even hungry, can you believe it?" He grinned.

Hutch noticed for the first time that there were more lines around Starsky's eyes that there had been when they'd last seen each other, more, he thought, than eighteen months could account for. 'I put them there,' he thought guiltily, then stopped himself immediately. 'No more self-recriminations,' he'd told Starsky and he'd meant it. He had to remember that it applied to himself, too. Cradling Starsky's face in his hands, he kissed his eyes and his mouth, then tenderly wrapped his arms around the shorter man, resting his head for a moment on Starsky's shoulder. When he looked up, his eyes were a little wet and he had a lump in his throat, but he spoke clearly. "I love you Starsk, I love you so much. I'm never leaving you again, I promise."

Starsky smiled contentedly. "I'm never lettin' you go again, so don't even try it, Blintz. I love you too, more than anyone else ever could." He disengaged himself from Hutch's embrace and walked out of the kitchen, turning the light off as he went. "Come on, baby, take me to bed."

Hutch's heart leaped into his throat. He'd always thought that was just a cliche, but it couldn't be. Nothing else could possibly account for the funny feeling that suddenly made it hard to breathe. It was real. It was _real_ - Starsky was here and he still loved him, loved Hutch, wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. And tonight Starsky would once again be in his bed, where he belonged. Hutch knew nothing would happen tonight - he recognized the exhaustion that had settled into Starsky over the course of the evening, had felt it himself often enough to know that Starsky would probably be asleep almost as soon as he lay down. Didn't matter; they'd have a lifetime to make up for what they'd be missing out on tonight.

Starsky had gone into the bathroom; Hutch could hear sounds of teeth being brushed, the toilet flushing, water splashing. He smiled, relishing the simple sounds of domesticity, then left the kitchen, pausing in the living room to turn off the lights and remove the tape he'd been listening to earlier from the stereo. He turned off the power to the stereo, then, hesitating just a moment, turned it back on. He rummaged through his stack of records - he knew it'd be there, one of Starsky's favorites. Starsky had bought it for him years ago, appalled that Hutch didn't have one album of Christmas music in his possession. He placed the record on the spindle, set the needle, then turned the volume so low it would barely reach the bedroom. A sweet, simple instrumental version of "O Holy Night" was the first track. Smiling, he left the living room to join the man he loved.

It was going to be the perfect Christmas.


End file.
